These Delusions Of Mine
by SpockTasticallyFascinating
Summary: 'I've been looking for you the world over. My hands have felt, my eyes have seen and viewed, and my feet have stalked the trodden ground for a thousand years, yet that face of yours has yet to be seen. Perhaps you are lost to me, and our hearts will drift into oblivion, but I will not end my search for the eyes that draws me in. Schizophrenic!Steve/Loki AU
1. Chapter 1

'_I've been looking for you the world over. My hands have felt, my eyes have seen and viewed, and my feet have stalked the trodden ground for a thousand years, yet that face of yours has yet to be seen. Perhaps you are lost to me, and our hearts will drift into oblivion, but I will not end my search for the eyes that draws me in. I would lose myself to find you, min elskede.'_

Steve _knew _that voice.

Even through the usual disorientation of sleep, the familiar soft tenor lay heavy on his ear, one that held the amusements and sadness of a child. It was young and untried still, with the lilt of vocal chords that held a comforting sharpness of words. So common and _right _that it brought nostalgic fondness on its wings, of dreams and dances and the rose scent of lovely princes locked away.

Shuffling the covers, the clocked blared from the far corners of the room, rosy and spartan in the rich cloak of black that shrouded all of the familiar objects: the piles of sketches jumbled on the desk, the white emptiness of doors that withheld his personals belongings. Yet, even through the miasma of night and focus, the cold wash of moonlight fought back the demons into a balance of serenity and the fear of the unknown hidden in its dark depths. Serene, just like a smile, all white with the sharpness of pointed teeth and strange bones.

'_Min elskede...' _It ran over and over again in his mind, the correct meaning and syntax lost but the emotion sweltering underneath the unknown, reminiscent of all the warm faces and bright eyes that eluded him. So, instead of chasing the uncatchable tail of words, he stood up, stumbling for his lack of movement in hours. And the Super Soldier looked forward, brow creased with hair astray and eyes milky, into the chameleonic depths of the mirror.

The reflection was astounding in its own domestic way, transforming the Man with a Plan and the hero of America into a wide-eyed mirage of a boy awoken in innocence that breaths kept within. It was sobering and soft (_'that face of yours'_) and it couldn't have been any less real. Serpents crawled over his heart, whispering the words into the throbbing flesh and sinew, with the madness of the boy so soft and beloved that he could not place.

Hands shook and entwined into clothing, hair, and firm skin, but in the instance the ephemeral rush of planes and sky passed by in a flash, it was determinedly not his own. A being basked in the growing spotlight of the moon, faded into shades of white that turned hard lines of shoulders and curvaceous hips into smooth ridges of light and weight. The mountainous spires of spinal bones protruded from the lean flesh of back and ribs that drew ghastly shapes into the face, all high cheekbones and long-lashed emerald pupils as the child gazed with a troubled expression, as if he did not recognize what lay before him.

Steve believed the last part.

"That was your voice in my dreams, wasn't it?" And the boy smiled, all angles and graceful nonchalance.

"You are very acute in your observations, Steven. After all, time has passed, and yet you are still familiar with the sound of my voice." Their eyes met each other, one a man and one a boy, but the boy didn't not flinch or give way, hardened in ways of the world that Steve desperately wanted to know, to catalogue and count every trouble in them. The world kept them, and the memories clawed at his heart for entrance, ones of a boy and another dark haired raven chasing in the dream palace that Steven had constructed long ago, as loneliness piled high. A boy to chase his heels and love him wholly, to smile with a satin mouth and to grasp hands in the empty bed with. This was someone all his own, this boy who now perched on the end of his own bed, naked and smooth down to the uncalloused heels.

"You have not changed at all. I guess so, because you were never real in the first place." He laughed, _Loki __**laughed**__, _with an aching chuckle reeling of untold amusement as he gazed back, looking ever so in his element.

"I have taken this form only to appease you, and I am very much a true being. You created me, and so I shall exist from then onward. That is, until you perish." Loki glowed now, not of celestial means but his own, and the terrible warping of skin drew blue eyes to pale skin. The form grew longer, sleeker, losing most all of the body fat to flat planes. It was still as beautiful, still as lovely, but now the eyes matched the body with its coldness and spirit. "Do you doubt my solidity now?"

The raven was gone, rematerialized into the blonde's chest as piano fingers ghosted under the physique that they both knew was foreign still to Steve Rogers. Steve idly noticed the difference in height; the few inches that made Loki seem to tower above his head. His head bowed instinctually, sloping to dip into the obtuse angle of the neck and shoulder, breath warm and sultry into relaxed muscles. Loki completed the loop by grazing palms across the short stubble of his messy hairline, murmuring continuous nothings there and everywhere.

"It has been long since I have seen you last, _min elskede. _Longer has it been since I have seen you, and yet, nothing has changed. The world has grown wearier, and you have become stronger, but true change has never come." The rejection of that couldn't leave Steve's lips as Loki purred such cruel things, such poisons to the ear. It was painful, but a small piece of his waning heart knew that nothing the man said could be denied here, not after so long. And it had been _long, _a time when he still had a mother and walked to school and was all alone. _Many years._

"Do not fret. We will have time now, and it will last. Not a soul can come between us, not this time. You need not tell anyone." And suddenly there were in bed, tangled in crème sheets and close enough to share breath. It was overheated, but comforting to the eye and to the heart. Loki wanted him, at least somebody did.

"I won't. I promise."

**Author's Note: I'm not sure what demon possessed me to even write this, but I've done it now. Should I continue it or not? I am undecided. Tell me if you like it/hate it/ want to take it and hide it under your bed. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So, here I am trying to figure out what to do with this story. I suppose this is what I get for writing this on the spur-of-the-moment notice. So, any tips about mental disorders or suggestions will make a happy me! **

**XXX**

Being the hero of America was not a task accomplished through complacency because, as everyone knows, those who serve must put tasks before themselves and not sully themselves in the deep darkness that was sluggishness. And, of course, Steve abided by that as thoroughly as he did anything else. This resolve took him early in the morning, still willing and submissive with sleep, to prop up against the darkness.

Blue eyes blinked and searched, flicking frantically into the unknown as his awareness blooms, a white blossom of clarity that shrouds the being sleeping a hair's breadth away. Loki slumbered on easily, peacefully, seemingly without troubles in the slightest. But the blonde knew the signs, the smell of sweat pooling in hidden divots of skin around the cheeks and just under the slope of slim earlobes. He knew it well, having the tense knot of emotions skimming the edges of his consciousness that lead him to sleep just as he felt, restless and on edge.

"Loki, I'm going." He prodded the sleeping form timidly with the back of his hand. Loki stirred slightly, opening one eye and then another with long movements. The irises were huge and dilated, flecked with greens and yellows.

"I know. You have others to attend to. Now, leave, and go help those who matter." The Trickster murmured this bitterly, grasping on to the Captain with a steady hand.

Steve sighed, and he let go quickly, fumbling over to the wardrobe mirror that haunted last night's escapades. None of the mystery and magic adorned it in the light of day, only his lone reflection, which discarded the sleep-worn trousers and shirt for a bottle blue button-up and faded jeans that hugged the backs of his thighs. Loki clucked appreciatively from the bed, and Steve turned tail to glare at him, receiving only a smug grin in return.

He returned to his task, but now observing another body in the mirror. "At least now I know why you wanted me to get up." It was a cheeky and risky business, being so bold, but Loki smiled again, a bit wider than before with more sincerity. His heart skipped a beat, racing even as he straightened the imaginary wrinkles in his shirt.

After some mental scolding, he slipped out of the door, calling out to Loki even as he left to stay safe and go back to sleep. The raven grumbled a reply, but it was quickly blotted out by the hustle and bustle of the city.

Manhattan was alive and moving, even so very early, and it was always one of the things Steve could appreciate on the five-block walk to Avengers Tower. It was the conformity of knowing that you were one of many and not just some idol talking on a big screen, and the courtesy was something he couldn't have when he lived with his team. Steve loved them, loved each and every one of them, even Tony, but keeping house and presence with them erupted a serpent of worry in his chest. And they had understood, thank God, as Bruce had tactfully pointed out some nice apartments to him after their half-hearted attempt at shwarma after New York.

Contemplating on this, he leapt up and over the curb, vaulting himself into the Stark Tower lobby without a hitch, crossing the classy, carpeted expanse as quickly as his long legs would allow. Most of the building was still a maze to him, and, as Captain America couldn't pride himself on being late, he did not stop to examine the fifty-four other odd floors that adorned the glowing buttons of the elevator shaft. Instead, he jammed the circular pad with the crystal A carved into it, and the machine shot forward.

As many levels of the building as there were, it only took around thirty seconds of waiting to hurtle all the way up to the topmost section of the building and come to halt. The smooth glass popped open and whirled away, revealing a familiar sight that was tradition on a Saturday morning.

All of the Avengers, _his Avengers, _were curled around the long table in the dining room, lazily sipping coffee and chewing on donuts from the large piles of boxes which he assumed Tony had picked up on his way back from the tech meeting in Shanghai. Thor had chocolate spread all along his face like a little kid, and was content to lick his fingers of the offending glaze with a sugary concentration. The spies sat on the corner, nibbling little bits and Clint playing with Tasha's still-wet hair, and Tony and Bruce sat together as always, talking in their seven-syllable language that he couldn't hope to understand in his lifetime. It was all very comforting and normal today, which made him smile without thinking.

Thor greeted him with an enthusiastic "Hello!" that shook the room, bounding over the way a happy child does when seeing the family dog, and, with the chocolate around his mouth and pleasant energy, he may as well be a small child. Steven smiled and took his place at the long end of the table, between Thor and Bruce like he usually did, listening to Tony whine and groan about who-knows-what.

"So, Capsicle, pray tell why you arrived so late on this sacred day," Tony gripes, shuffling in his seat to face him. It was rude of Tony to ask him about being late, but, then again, _everything Tony did was in some way rude to someone else._

"Oh, no answer, huh? Who's the lucky lady?" The billionaire nudges him between the ribs, simultaneously knocking off a brimming glass of orange juice and smacking Bruce right between the eyes, leaving an electric orange stain on the tablecloth and a very disgruntled scientist rubbing the edge of his nose.

"Why would I withhold such _important, meaningful _information from you, Tony Stark?" Tony mocked horror, crossing his arms and mouth opened wide in anguish, hissing in pain from his best friend's elbow currently lodged betwixt his ribcage. He gave Steve weak evils, but it only forced a chuckle from his mouth as the Avengers sat and ate and talked smack as they usually did. The comfort was back in full force, worming into his heart despite all of the flaws each of them had and the things each of them knew.

The smiles never went away, even when Clint and Natasha started arguing ferociously in what Steve supposed was a complicated form of Russian, and when Thor all about fell asleep after he crashed down from his frantic sugar coma.

Though, Steven Rogers felt an indefinable emotion as he set down his food, looking longingly into his empty glass, but it glaring back as brightly orange as it always was, not the emerald majesty flecked with yellow that he craved so desperately. He could reiterate that he loved his team over and over again until his tongue ceased to function, but they weren't what he _needed. _

Steve had the sudden urge to go home.


End file.
